Intimate
by piperholmes
Summary: "They didn't always talk afterwards, not needing words to express what their bodies had already so perfectly and poetically communicated. But truthfully she loved these conversations. The honesty and love in those moments; the confessions, the dreams, all vulnerable revelations that were never to be shared with anyone else. It was perfect, comfortable, unequivocal intimacy."


**Intimate**

**By: piperholmes**

**A/N: There is no set time for this story. Make of it what you will. As always unbeta'd. More at the bottom. **

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Tom's arms shook as he slowly lowered himself down. The quiet of the room stark in comparison with the crescendo of sounds just moments previous. Sometimes they were quiet—a sigh, a moan—and sometimes, like tonight, they cried out their joy, their pleasure, as they pushed and pulled desperately against each other, the old frame of the bed protesting loudly against the vigor of young love.

She giggled, liked she always did following their more amorous pursuits, as he nestled his face against her neck, panting breathes across her skin. He moved to roll off her, not willing to impose his weight against her, but she held tight, wrapping a long leg around him, keeping him buried within her, refusing to allow him to leave her body just yet.

He didn't protest, not this time because he'd learned to accept her insistence that he wasn't hurting her, that she liked it; his body pressed so tightly against hers.

He kissed where her pulse was racing as she lazily began to run her fingers through his sweaty hair.

The darkness of the room slowly began to shift to a hazy grey as the day began to dawn. Soon the rest of the world would invade, jobs, family, chores, responsibilities, all seeking, vying, for their attention, but in this moment, their appetites satisfied and bodies now languid, it was just them; forever and simply them.

"This," he whispered, tickling the small hairs at the base of her neck, "This is what kept me."

Sybil cracked open her eyes, caught between the pull of a contented sleep and the love in his voice. They didn't always talk afterwards, not needing words to express what their bodies had already so perfectly and poetically communicated, and she knew he wouldn't begrudge her now if she chose to simply kiss his brow and close her eyes. But truthfully she loved these conversations. She felt that the physical act of love making was special between them, and it was, but in reality it could be done between anyone—as it had been since the beginning of time—and so much of the world could cheapen it. It was the time after that was truly unique. The honesty and love in those moments; the confessions, the dreams, all vulnerable revelations that were never to be shared with anyone else. It was perfect, comfortable, unequivocal intimacy.

Her tongue darted out to wet her lips before she asked dryly, "Kept you? Were you planning on going somewhere?"

She felt his lips spread in a smile, a smirk really, where half his mouth goes up and he looks deliciously guilty.

"Before," he explained, using his considerable strength to fight her hold and roll them both onto their sides, falling out of her, but holding her tightly to him. He broke away only long enough to reach down and pull the blanket over their cooling bodies, wrapping them both tightly together.

The shift in positions brought them face to face, noses glancing off each other, just far enough away to keep from having to cross their eyes to see.

"Before we were married," he continued, now settled comfortable. "Before you were ready to admit how ardently and completely you loved me."

Sybil smirked at her husband's comment, but he ignored her.

"On more than one occasion I would think about how much easier it would be to give up, to leave. I would start to be weighed down by thoughts of futility and doubt; a lady and a chauffeur. I think on it now and I see how crazy it was," he confessed. "Then I would hear your voice, your laugh, or feel your hand in mine, and then I could see this; us together like this, and I knew I truly would wait forever because you are worth every second."

In the beginning she would smile, demur or laugh, not willing to believe him. She was confident, and proud of her accomplishments, but how could she be expected to believe such declarations? How, when she knew how flawed she was? When she knew of the arguments they would have, the disagreements, when their imperfections caused conflict between them, how?

But not anymore.

Now, she knew what his love did; his love filled in all the holes and smoothed all the bumps. She knew because that's what her love did for him.

She placed a kiss against his nose. "Every second," she agreed, feeling her own need to confess. "When we first married, I was so afraid to admit to my family that it was hard. I thought for sure it was proof that they were right. I wanted every second to be happy and easy and filled with love."

It was Tom's turn to smirk. It was difficult to admit, but everyone had been right; they hadn't been prepared for what was in store. Only, they had all been wrong too, utterly and completely wrong.

"The lampshade," Tom said, prompting a full-out laugh from her.

"The lampshade," she agreed, as the pair laughed harder. The fight that nearly sent her running back to Downton, which had him questioning whether he really was the best guarantee of her happiness, a fight over a silly lampshade.

They laughed now, because they saw, they weren't fighting over a household commodity. It had been so much more.

"We were both so stupid and stubborn," he acknowledge with a smile.

Sybil pressed her lips together, giving a knowing glance heavenward. "Truer words," she added. "I really thought that love meant we would work out all of our problems. I expected problems, I wasn't that naive, but I didn't understand then. I didn't understand that loving you meant there might not always be a solution—"

"That there is no magic moment of happiness," he finished for her. Because he knew, he understood.

"I didn't recognize the hard times for what they were."

"And what were they Mrs. Branson?" he teased.

"They make the weak strong, and the sweet even sweeter," she declared boldly.

Sybil snuggled down closer to him, tucking her head under his chin, savoring the feel, the smell, the sounds of him. "I'm proud of what we've done," she told him.

"Of what we'll do," he promised, pressing a kiss into her hair.

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**Thanks for reading**

**For Eleanor Writes, I hope this is a little of what you were thinking about, I know it's short, I had to write fast. And special thanks to _scarletcourt_ for listening to my crazy. I honestly don't know how much fanfic I will be writing for this show/ship in the future. I don't say that to be a downer, I just am really struggling with writing for them. I feel like a shell of the writer I used to be when it come to these two. So I just want to say a big thank you to everyone who has been so kind to me, and to my stories. I have loved writing for these characters and for my fellow shippers. And a huge thanks to those authors who have continued to write such wonderful fanfic; you're amazing!**


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